


if you want it, you've already got it

by coffeesuperhero



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero/pseuds/coffeesuperhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he would know River Song quite well one day, but he hadn't realized he'd know her <i>intimately</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you want it, you've already got it

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers** : This isn't for profit, just for fun! All characters & situations belong to Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, BBC, and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song of Madonna's, which I also had nothing to do with.  
>  **A/N** : Set somewhere between Time of Angels and Big Bang. I think. Maybe. Possibly. I play fast and loose with timestreams on a good day, you guys. This is in the same vein as [catch me if you can](http://coffeesuperhero.livejournal.com/262375.html), which is spoilery, but this isn't. The idea for this story was 100% [narciscia](http://narciscia.livejournal.com/profile)'s.

He knew, certainly, based on evidence previously acquired at a much earlier point in his timestream, that there would come a point where he would know River Song quite well. He hadn't exactly put together, however, that when that point in time came for him, that he wouldn't just know her _well_ , he would know her _intimately_ , but the evidence of that is quite literally staring him in the face at this immediate moment, this immediate moment being, apparently, simultaneously the time that he tried to return River Song to Stormcage and also the time, somewhen in his future and her past, the time when he turned up at Stormcage to undress her and, well, _do things_ that he doesn't really talk about. Fortunately, he can't see himself from this viewpoint, as his back is to himself, which is just as well, really, because he can't imagine what he would have to say to himself under these circumstances. "Carry on," doesn't exactly cover it. Meanwhile, the River of this second timestream looks terribly amused by the whole situation. She even _winks_ at him. It's entirely too much to take in.

From now on, he vows, when he gets the clever idea to usher her out the door and back into her cell, he'll make her go first.

He ducks back into the TARDIS.

"River, get us out of here," he shouts, plastering himself against the inside of the TARDIS door, eyes still wide, mouth possibly a little slackjawed, not that anyone could blame him, of course, having just stumbled upon this future indiscretion, and no one in all the galaxies looks anything but silly in the middle of _that_ , except, of course, possibly, very probably, for River, who looked, well, very, very pleased with herself. He shivers, but it's not because he's cold. "You can't go out there."

"Doctor? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing, it's nothing," he protests. He's not looking out the window of the TARDIS at the two of them. Absolutely not. Insane idea. Couldn't possibly. He needs to move away from the door; he can still hear River from all the way in here. He wonders what she did to the guards to keep them from coming down to see what she's about, making all that noise, but he shoves that thought away quickly, because it leads all too swiftly to a whole host of thoughts he can't really entertain at present and still retain the ability to function.

"Is something the matter out there? It should be five minutes after I-- oh," she says, looking at the coordinates, a knowing smile blooming across her face. "That would do it. You've put the last number in wrong."

"I'm a lot of things, River Song, but wrong isn't one of them," he says, indignant, shaking a finger at her. There is no way this is his fault, none whatsoever. He pays attention to her when she talks, after all, he's never yet been distracted by any parts of her, or all the parts of her, possibly, not once. Ever. Yet. "You said five!"

"I _said_ nine, but no matter. I was wondering when and how that happened," she drawls.

"You _remember_?" he squeaks.

"Of course, sweetie," she says, clearing the old coordinates. "Not the sort of thing you forget."

"Well," he says, smugly. He may not get around much, but it's nice to know he's still got it, or will have still got it, not that he ever lost it, whatever it is, and not that he's still thinking about that, which he's not. "I can't imagine it would be."

She smiles at him, a bit more teeth in the expression than he would like. "That was the same day that the prison changed the guard's uniforms. The new trousers did wonders for them, really."

"We need to go, the paradox engines," he grumbles, gesturing vaguely at the console.

River casts an amused look at _his_ trousers, and then sets about flipping levers. "Yes, I'm sure that it was just the _engines_ that had trouble with it, sweetie."

"It absolutely was," he lies, fidgeting uncomfortably. It's suddenly very, very important that he study the zig-zag plotter. He's never really looked at it closely before, and it's not a thing to be taken for granted, a zig-zag plotter.

"You should look forward to it," she says, landing the TARDIS in coordinates that he hopes are unoccupied by future or past versions of themselves. "That was a very good day."

\+ + + +

"We caught ourselves, this time, didn't we?" he asks, hopping back into his trousers.

River raises an eyebrow. "How did you know? I must have been flying, the brakes weren't making that noise."

"Not the sort of thing you forget," he says, grinning. He adjusts his bow tie and looks her over: her hair is wilder than usual and her skin is flushed, and she looks every bit as pleased with herself as he remembers.

He's definitely still got it.


End file.
